Deliverance
by white lotus
Summary: The end of it all...


**A/N - **Best read with _Obokuri-eeumi_ playing in the background, for atmosphere. XD... Depressing but satisfying to write. I can't really label this a spoiler, because it doesn't happen in the anime, but you could consider this a spoiler in AU, if you like. This is what would happen if Jin had arrived too late to save Fuu and he and Mugen had sustained enough strength to go about their duel properly. And if it had decided to rain. (The ending of this drabble is confusing. I know, but I have no idea how to fix it.)

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**Deliverance - A Samurai Champloo Drabble **

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The sea crashed ruthlessly against the shore, delivering vengence in an ancient rage for a reason long-forgotten. It lashed the smooth black stones that lined the cliffs towering along the coast, the dispassionate witnesses of the eternal grudge. Spray misted two motionless figures on the beach, already drenched from the elemental onslaught, as above them, the heavens mourned.

Who would have guessed it would end this way?

An absurd question.

On a more sensible note, who _didn't_ know?

Somehow, Jin had imagined that there would be more people to witness this, and a great deal less rain. Slender, pale fingers gripped experimentally at the hilt of his katana, inducing a scorching pain that exploded in his torn right shoulder. Blood flowed freely from the open wound, staining his robe a bruising violet. He blinked, removed his glasses and tucked them safely into his sleeve. Steel gleamed cruelly in his grasp.

Unlike his rival, Mugen couldn't see his injury, but the icy sting of the rain was enough to inform him of the cut. Although shallow in comparison to the gash Mugen had landed, where Jin lacked in brute strength, he compensated in skill. The slash ran, a bitter mockery that made its receiver scowl twice as fiercely as he usually would, as the rain followed it down the length of his back, from his left shoulder blade to the right of his hips, burning as though it were laughing.

_Stop fighting, you two! Idiots!_

Jin jerked, almost turned. Was it his imagination? Or was it really Fuu's high-pitched cries of indignation at being ignored yet again, her desperate attempts at playing peacemaker that implored them to refrain from hacking one another to pieces? Mugen grunted, smirked. "She's not here to stop us now, you know. She ain't gonna run up to us crying and screaming at us to keep our promises."

The glassy clatter of rain swallowed Jin's silence. Was that moron trying to convince himself to give up the fight?

They watched.

Waited.

No signal but a flicker of silver, like the hum and the sting of an agitated bee.

And around them, the rain fell, the heavy curtain on the last act of all they ever knew.

Blades met in a resounding clash, a blur of blue and white metallic resonance, away and back, around, up, over, parry, swing, stab, shove, break away, the grating rasp for much needed air. Jin couldn't tell whether Mugen's throaty cries were due to distress or sheer pleasure.

Strangely enough, he hoped it was the latter.

Strength ebbing from his will, Mugen slouched, breathing laboriously. He could tell Jin was exhausted, knew that this would end soon.

Jin shifted his stance. The next move would decide the duel.

Mugen dragged a hand through his limp, clinging mop of hair, grinning like the maniac he was. "You fucking bastard."

Jin smiled.

In a single bound, he covered the distance between them, dived beneath a sweeping thrust and seized a fistful of red sleeve, swinging himself about to press his back against Mugen's.

Mugen knew this move: It was Jin's favourite. So many times he had seen he ronin stand back to back, running his opponents through behind him, and Mugen might have been able to evade, if only he had known that Jin's signature technique was actually the imitation of another.

Mugen's sword twisted free of his grip, tripped and tumbled, thumping like a dying heartbeat on the weather-beaten rock. Blood ran crimson and warm as it mingled with the rain, falling in garnet droplets to shatter at his feet.

With a wretched yelp, Jin wrenched the blade out, gasping against the horror of what he'd done.

As one, both men dropped to their knees.

Mugen groaned. "_Bastard._ You won."

"No," Jin murmured. "We both lose."

He sighed, and suddenly found the urge to laugh. Deprived of the resolve to resist, he yielded to the desire, but the sound caught somewhere in his chest, choking and bucking as his shoulders shuddered uncontrollably, his head reeled, his mouth full of molten, salty steel. "Mugen," he tried to say, and the word coughed pathetically, wet with his life's blood.

"Shut up," was the reply.

"Turn around,"

The voice drifted aimlessly back through the downpour, familiar, hoarse and growling, defiant to the very end. "I take orders from no one."

"Mugen -"

A quivering moan of agony as a pair of strong hands grasped his shoulders, mercilessly twisting him about. And there was that stupid smirk, those blazing hazel eyes. Jin felt his agitation give way to an inexplicable sense of relief.

They watched.

Waited.

Time had run out.

Fingers, white as death, reached out, grasped and entwined with a larger hand; a breath held and shared, a desperate clenching sensation that was too far beyond any physical boundary to register as pain. The wilting rose of Sharon, the caress of cherry blossoms carried by a dying breeze.

"See you in Hell."

"I'll be waiting."

Side by side, they faced death as they had faced life, unafraid in the other's company as the rain washed away regrets, cleansed them of their sins.

Two proud men: unlike in every way, warriors as they stood, allies in battle, unwavering in defeat and friends to the final breath.

Who would have guessed it would end this way?

Fate could barely justify the fact they began together at all.


End file.
